


Adventures out of the Greenwood

by Jessa_yeah



Series: Lakedell au [2]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Adventure, Background Romance, Casual Sex, Choose your own destiny, Coming of Age, Different Customs, Exploring Sexuality, F/F, F/M, Female original character - Freeform, First Time, Found Family, Free Orcs, Friendship, Gen, Goodbyes, Growing Up, M/M, Male-Female Friendship, No explicit smut, Party, Post-Battle of Five Armies, Travel, beyond canon, chosen family, different cultures, feel good, queer lives, roadtrip through Middle Earth
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-09
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:08:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 16,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21675802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jessa_yeah/pseuds/Jessa_yeah
Summary: Thranduil recieves an invitation for Lakedell's five year celebration party. There's really only one he can send. That decision might have some consequences.In which Legolas travels Middle Earth with his new friends, has adventures, learns a lot about mortals, and even figures out this thing called love. Probably. Maybe. Mahal, this is so confusing.The sequel to "A home for the lost".
Relationships: Arwen Undómiel & Aragorn & Legolas Greenleaf & Gimli son of Glóin & female OC, Gimli (Son of Glóin)/Legolas Greenleaf
Series: Lakedell au [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1567180
Kudos: 14





	1. An unexpected invitation

**Author's Note:**

> Here’s the sequel for ‘A home for the lost’! I thought I was done writing within this AU. My brain however popped up some new ideas and so I just had to start another multi-chapter story. Not entirely sure yet where this story will lead me, but it will certainly feature what is basically a road trip through Middle Earth, have Legolas/Gimli, and, just as 'A home for the lost', this story will be friendship-centric. I'd be delighted if you'd join me on the journey!

Thranduil groaned. In court, he would never let his composure slip like this, but as it was, he was in his private rooms with nobody around. The object of his irritation lay on his lap; an invitation, just delivered. It came from Lakedell and was written by none other than Bilbo Baggins.

He didn’t know what to _do_ with it.

The problem was… well, was pretty much mister Baggins himself. The hobbit kept embarrassing him, while also continuing to give Thranduil new reasons to own him his gratitude.

It had all started with that nasty business six years ago. The hobbit had somehow managed to set thirteen separately locked up dwarves free and smuggle them out of the Realm, a story which _still_ made the rounds. Granted, the soaked dwarves in their barrels and the drunken guards were as much the target of the laughter as Thranduil himself was, but still, it didn’t look good upon the security of the Realm _at all_. But then, after the Battle, Thranduil was pretty sure it was the hobbit himself who had convinced King Dís to give the White gems of Lasgalen to him. She had certainly hinted that was the case (along with a mildly worded threat to his safety should he even think about harming the hobbit).

So, there was that.

And then, after, Bilbo Baggins had made the banished Tauriel his own Head Guard, giving her a home and honor after her disobedience to him. But mere months later, they had dared come to him with trade goods so luxurious Thranduil hadn’t been able to resist - fine spun capes made of wool of the mountain goats, warm and waterproof. Dried herbs of the high alpine fields, delicate and with much finer scent and flavour than what the Men of Dale offered. Herbal and fruit meads that were frankly the best he ever tasted.

A few years of occasional trade went by in the blink of an eye.

Then, after a winter of silence, tales of Bilbo Baggins having destroyed the Ring reached the Greenwood. Thranduil wasn’t yet sure how to feel about that. He supposed he should be grateful for the definite end of Sauron and all that, yes, but on the other hand, he’d have preferred it to be able to have a say in the fate of an object as ancient and powerful as Sauron’s Ring.

All in all, that insignificant little hobbit continued to give him headaches, and Thranduil would very much like to put a halt to that.

But for now, the letter still lay in his lap, written in graceful loops and courteous tones, inviting him to Lakedell for its five-year celebration party. Thranduil couldn’t find any fault in it, however much he glared at it.

He’d really rather just ignore the whole matter, but that would be a grievous insult to manners, and he couldn’t risk to insult their trade partner. So, he would have to send someone. Who? Not someone with a low rank, both because it would be insulting and because he didn’t want any of his lowly elves to be getting any ideas - about disobeying his orders and running off to join some dwarves, for example, or about going to live somewhere out of the Greenwood and pretend to be some kind of ruler, like commoners could just do that. So, it had to be someone highly ranked. Thranduil would send a couple of his court members, except that he didn’t trust those to be able to be sufficiently civil towards dwarves, in general but especially towards the specific dwarves Thranduil just knew would be at the party. As much as he hated the thought, there was only one option left.

Thranduil sighed, and called for someone to send his son to him.

A few months later, and Legolas was having a _marvelous_ time. He’d had known parties at the Greenwood, midwinter feasts and spring festivals and autumn dinners, and there had been good food and music and dance. But this… this was a party unlike any he had ever been at.

The celebration had started mid-morning on the shore of the lake. It was a warm and sunny summer day, and Bilbo Baggins had stood on a barrel to give a speech, which was short and led to a lot of laughter as inside jokes and playful insults were made. Ori, Bofur and a dwarf Legolas had been introduced to as Kalur then came forth with much cheering. The three climbed onto the barrel beside Bilbo, lute and flute ready, and proceeded to play a joyful celebration song, Ori skillfully singing about the Founding of Lakedell, the destroying of the Ring and about five years of peace and trade. The four jumped off the barrel under a loud applause and then climbed into a small rowing boat and pushed off, everyone else following their example. Soon a whole fleet of colourful little boats glided over the turquoise water, their occupants laughing and whooping and splashing at each other and throwing flowers into the air until the surface of the lake was quite covered in them.

A sweet tea table was laid out when Legolas came back from the lake, flower petals tangled in his quite damp hair. There was a large cake rich with cream, and apple pie and blueberry scones and fudge and a lot more sweet and delicious things Legolas mostly did not know the name of. He settled down with a mug of tea and a plate beside Tauriel, who introduced him to the rather magnificent but friendly Arwen of Rivendell. Legolas had a nice time exchanging news and gossip with the both of them over the tea and treats.

The games and contests started then, and they lasted the whole afternoon, to the great enjoyment of all. Dori took first place in the strength contest, narrowly beating Dwalin and King Dis. A game of dodgeball led to much cheering and shouting as the teams chased each other around the field. Bilbo Baggins proved to be excellent at ring throwing and darts. Long-legged Estel raced and almost won against Arwen. Legolas decided to compete in the archery contest. Ysaude dropped off after a few rounds, shaking her head and laughing. King Bard did very well indeed, managing to hit even fast-moving objects. Bard and Legolas and Tauriel were still competing when a middle-aged human woman with glossy black hair and a sun-weathered face came forth, calling a challenge. She laid down her bow, placed her hands flat on the grass and then swung her legs up in the air, somehow picking up her bow _with her toes_ and shooting an arrow that _even hit the target_. Granted, it was the closest one, but still, _how was that possible_. Legolas saw that he was not the only one staring in sheer awe. They agreed to give the woman first prize.

Tauriel, of course, immediately went to try the manoeuvre herself, resulting in a wobbly handstand, flailing legs and a rather undignified fall on her face.

Meanwhile, half a dozen hobbits had laid out a banquet with a huge amount of food, and all of it mouth-watering - roast leg of lamb, fresh loaves of bread, grilled fish, cheese plates, stews and soups and salads, roasted vegetables, mushroom pies - tables and tables full of it. Legolas filled his plate again and again, trying and failing to taste everything.

Then there was the music, a various mix of cheerful ballads some took turns singing and fast reels his feet couldn’t stay still at, so occasionally he joined the dancers in their wild jigs and jumps until he had to take a break to catch some air. It was nothing like the graceful elvish dances he’d danced his whole life. This made his heart pump and his cheeks flush and his courtly manners disappear behind a wide grin, but luckily there was only Tauriel here to laugh at him - the rest laughed _with_ him, the hobbits and the dwarves and the humans and the few other elves as they danced and ate and drank and talked and sang, and Legolas felt like a different person altogether, far removed from the Prince of the Greenwood.

He found himself laying on his back in the meadow late at night, gazing up at the thin moon and the stars and Mithrandir’s fireworks that lit up the night sky in glorious shapes and colors. Gimli son of Gloin lay beside him. He had met the young red-bearded dwarf while dancing, where Gimli had tried to teach him dwarven footwork and had looked on, quite enthralled, as Legolas in turn showed him some of the fluid movements of elvish dance. Gimli was curious and polite and turned out to be a lot of fun to talk to. He had a way with words that seemed beyond his years and common background. Like now, when he pointed the constellation of Mahal, The Maker, out in the sky and told him with a soft deep voice of the creation of the Dwarven race, poetic and vivid so Legolas head filled with images of a blazing forge and red-glowing metal and heavy hammers falling, creating sparks like those of the fireworks above them. Legolas lay in the grass beside a dwarf and was utterly content.

Legolas returned to the Greenwood. He loved this place. Knew every face, every trail beneath the trees. Some years passed, as years in an elven life tended to do. Seasons came and went. Courts were held and songs were sang and nothing ever really changed. Legolas realized he was growing restless. He wanted… something. Someone new to get to know. Some new thing to make, some new thing to learn, somewhere new to go. Finally, he couldn’t stand it anymore. He wrote to Bilbo, who promptly replied. More exchanged letters followed - with Rivendell, with Erebor, with Lakedell. An idea that had been simmering in the back of his mind for a while now slowly took shape. He went to look for his father.

“Father, I’m leaving for an adventure.” he said.


	2. Many goodbyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adventure begins by saying goodbye.
> 
> Sorry it's been a while! I've actually been writing a lot for this story, just not in a chronological order. But here is it, the second chapter. This one ends on a bit of a somber note. TW for discussion of death/mortality.

“Won’t you go with us, Mir? Please?” 

Mir shook her head. “You go with them, Ysaude. I’ve found my home here in Lakedell, and it is a good home; I gladly leave my wandering days behind me.” 

“But I’ll miss you so!” 

“So will I, Ysaude dear.” said Mir, gathering the young women in her strong arms. “But sometimes roads go in different directions and you can’t help but say goodbye. Now, don’t be sad. I’ll look forward to hearing from you - just think of all the stories you’ll have to tell me!” 

***

Meanwhile, Estel said goodbye to his mother. He had done so often; she was not the type to sit quietly home in Rivendell, always coming and going. But this time he would be the one to go out into the wide world, while she would head back home. It was very exciting and slightly scary. 

His mother looked at him, tall and proud and a little sad. “The time has come for you to ride out and discover Middle Earth for yourself, my child, for it cannot be contained in tales. May you learn a lot, and make good friends, and grow into a wiser person. You come from a line of rulers; you are raised and taught like one. Maybe you will find your own calling.” 

Estel grinned at her. ”I will do my best to learn and grow and help all those who might need it.” 

“Know that you can always come back home, if you want to,” his mother told him, and then she pulled him into a long embrace. 

***

Once Arwen had finished packing she had gone right back under the covers to spend a last few moments cuddling with Tauriel. 

“I understand why you chose to stay in Lakedell. It really is a lovely place. But that doesn’t mean I have to be happy about your decision.” Arwen said, slightly muffled against Tauriel’s neck. 

“I’m sure you’ll meet plenty of others to have a good time with.”

“But none of them will be as fierce and fun as my best friend Tauriel.”

“Will you still think me fun if I go tickle you right now?”

Laughter drifted from the red wooden cabin. 

***

Gimli had already bid his family goodbye back in Erebor. But even though this was only his second visit to Lakedell, he had already made a few good friends in Lakedell. Most however would be joining him on the journey, so no need to say goodbye to them. 

But he did bid a long and grateful farewell to Mir and Kalur, who had been generous enough to share their living quarters with him during his visits and had generally just been very good to him, and to Bilbo Baggins, who was to Gimli a hero from the sagas except that he was small and warm and, to be honest, a bit fussy. Sitting by Bilbo’s side was Bofur, and Ysaude sat at their feet, carefully braiding little Frodo’s dark curls. It was all rather adorable. Gimli asked Bofur what his plans were for the future. 

“I’ll take over the lead of the trade caravans between Lakedell, Erebor and Rivendell from Mir, so she’ll have more time for her craft,” said Bofur. “In between the traveling, I will live here in Lakedell. Bilbo and I have decided to court.” Bofur wrapped his arm around Bilbo’s shoulders, and the two shared a slightly besotted look. 

Gimly smiled. “I’m happy for you. My congratulations,” he offered.

Legolas came back from speaking with Tauriel. “I can’t believe I’m off to have adventures with a dwarf,” the elven prince said. 

“What about going on adventures with a friend?”

Legolas smiled at him, wide and radiant, and Gimli might have felt a little like the way Bilbo and Bofur just had looked at each other. Well. Easy to blame that on nerves about the upcoming journey. Yes, that must be it. 

***

Every inhabitant of Lakedell gathered in the gardens a while later to wave them goodbye, and then off they rode, into the cold morning air. They had a vague plan. Their first destination was to be Lothlorién, and then through the lands of Rohan and Gondor on to the sea all of them were curious to see. Not to the gray havens, but to a calm, azure coast with sandstone cliffs and white beaches a merchant had told such beautiful tales about. After, well, they did not know. That was an important part of an adventure, after all. 

Summer hadn't yet arrived; most of the snow had melted but the high tops of the Misty Mountains were still white. Days were long and bright, streams swollen with meltwater and birds busily flying around. It was a wonderful time of year for travel, though nights were still chilly and the occasional shower fell down on them. Legolas breathed in the fresh air and looked around in wonder.

The first day, they took lunch in the city of Anduinford. Legolas noticed that Estel was eager to explore this first city of Men he had ever been to, and proposed an early stop. Ysaude gladly led them around over busy marketplaces and through narrow alleys and past tall buildings and then, to the surprise of all, past a guardpost and down a set of staircases leading underground. Ysaude halted. 

“Few people come here, but I occasionally do.” she said. “It’s a bit sad and spooky, but also beautiful. If you want to understand the race of Men, I think this is a good place to visit.”

“What is it?” Legolas asked, looking around the small hall with its wide arches and lit lanterns on the wall.

“We call it the catacombs,” Ysaude said, taking a plain lantern from a shelf and lighting it. “Follow me, and stay close together. You don’t want to get lost down here.” 

Legolas exchanged a nervous glance with Estel, but felt a bit better when Arwen produced another lamp, made from crystal, illuminating a soft silvery light like that of the stars. Gimli of course didn’t look scared at all. Damn the bravery of his dwarven friend with his softly glistening red beard. 

Ysaude led them into a dark, narrow corridor, down another, and then the space around them opened up into a chamber. Legolas gasped for air. 

“Are those… skulls… and bones?  _ Human _ skulls and bones?” Arwen’s voice was very quiet. 

“Yes,” Ysaude calmly replied.

“But, there are so many!” 

“And there are many, many more. The catacombs extend all the way beneath the city. Sometimes people call it the City of the Dead.” 

“I don’t understand. How can there be so many?” 

Instead of answering, Ysaude led them on through more corridors and chambers. All had skulls and bones stacked artfully in the alcoves. Curtains of flowers were carved into the stone; memory plaques with engraved poetic words shone white in the lamplight. It was a graceful and utterly staggering display of mortality. Legolas tried to imagine each skull once having been a Men, breathing, having an unique face and personality and skills. How many of these lives laid out before him fitted into his father’s lifetime? It was almost impossible to wrap his mind around. 

“Anduinford is the only place in a great distance where the Anduin can be crossed without a boat.” Ysaude finally explained, sounding thoughtful. “And the pass is the easiest way to cross the Misty Mountains. Everyone traveling between East and West passes through Anduinford, and has done so for thousands of years. Some of them settle. Anduinford is an old city, probably even older than Minas Thirith. Yet the old times haven’t always been as kind to us as they are now. Strife, famine and great plagues have cut many of our short lives even shorter. And the city just doesn’t have room to keep expanding its graveyards, so instead the skeletons are dug up a few years after burial and brought down to rest here.”

Ysaude shrugged. “Good trade networks now ensure peace and more diverse sources of food, and by destroying the Ring we didn’t give Sauron the chance to disrupt that again. But I don’t know if all Men of Middle Earth fare so well. We’ll find out, I guess.”

They were quiet all the way up into the sunlight. 


	3. A small adventure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They travel southwards.

Legolas sat beside Ysaude at breakfast the next morning. He had a little difficulty eating the thick porridge, but the taste was good, flavored with dried apple, and the tea helped him get it down. Legolas added more honey to his bowl.

He sighed. “I can’t get those catacombs out of my head, Ysaude.” he said.

“I guessed that might be the case. You’ve been very silent.” 

“I couldn’t stop thinking about it last night. Seeing so much death was just staggering to me. And I wondered - how do Men build large cities as this and a prosperous, stable society, when their lives are so short? How can there be any continuity?”

Ysaude stopped stirring her tea and looked outside through the opened shutters, to the wakening city under the gold-colored light right after dawn. The morning was still fresh, but it would become a warm spring day, Legolas could already tell. 

“The things we do in a life, that experience - it does not disappear into a void as soon as one life ends, you know,” Ysaude said, speaking slowly. “Buildings often are completed even if the original architects and builders aren’t alive anymore. Skills are taught to younger apprentices. New songs and ideas and stories are written down, and kept safe in the libraries. Knowledge and valued possessions are passed from parent to child, from friend to friend, from neighbor to neighbor. In a way, every Men has the lives of many past Men living within her.”

Ysaude looked back at him, so young yet there was a certain weight in her gaze, too. “It’s not a perfect system, of course. I’m sure there is plenty that still gets lost somewhere along the line. But, prince Legolas, do you remember all the things you’ve ever been taught?” 

Legolas laughed. “My goodness, no! I think I would have a continuous headache if I had to remember all the lessons in court manners and the detailed histories of the elves and all the long ballads the poets sing.” 

He sobered as he took a moment to let her words sink in. Finally he nodded at Ysaude. 

“I thank you for sharing your thoughts with me, Ysaude,” he said. “You have given me a lot to think about.” 

And think about it he did, all through the day and the next quiet days of travel as well, as it steadily got warmer, the sun beating down out of a blazingly blue sky, steering his horse south on the road towards Lothlorien, winding through fields and forests on its way. They met farmers and merchants and each had something to share with them - a story, an invitation, fresh vegetables. The Greenwood already seemed far, far away.  
  
***

One minute it was clear blue skies; barely five minutes later, towering ink-dark clouds had gathered over the tops of the Misty Mountains. A huge thunderstorm was rolling down towards them - and fast.

“We have no time to head back to Arwen and Legolas!” Estel yelled at his friends. “We need to find shelter!” The group had separated a few hours ago; Gimli, Ysaude and Estel had left to look for chamois on the higher slopes, while the Elves had remained lower down in the forest to set up camp. Ysaude realized Estel was panicked; he might never have seen a storm like this one.

“There might be a cave nearby!” she shouted back. 

“Stop, the both of you!” 

Ysaude and Estel halted to wait for Gimli, who wasn’t as fast-footed on the slopes as they were. When he caught up, he was frowning at the both of them. “It’s no use running about. We first need a plan.” he stated.

“Sorry, Gimli. You’re right of course,” Ysaude said. She looked around her; strands of loose hair got blown into her face. Irritated, she tied her hair firmly back. 

They were climbing a narrow valley, leading up to a low mountain pass separating them from the forested hills on the other side. To the west, descending clouds already had obscured their view of the highest mountain tops. Thunder rolled menacingly, still at a distance, but rapidly coming closer. 

Ysaude nodded decisively, thinking about the spooky black tree trumps she had sometimes seen on exposed ridges around Lakedell. “Estel has a point,” she said. “We shouldn’t cross the pass right now. It’ll be storming up there, and there’s no protection against a lightning strike.”

Gimli walked over to the vertical valley wall and started to examine it.

Estel took a few deep breaths. “So climbing is dangerous; we can’t stay here either. The only choice we have is to head down.” he summarized.

“Exactly. Let’s wait to see if Gimli can Sense something.”

Gimli was now pressed with his back flat to the rock wall, kicking his heel against it. It would be a strange sight if she hadn’t already been so familiar with that dwarven habit (Estel looked puzzled, though). A lightning flash starkly lit up Gimli’s bearded face for one moment - there was an expression of fierce concentration on it. Much too soon after the flash the thunder followed. 

Ysaude firmly told herself to stay still, even though a growing anxiety laid a knot in her stomach. She knew this could not be rushed. 

“The valley is split up by a rock formation further down.” Gimli said, a little later. “We need to keep to the left. I can detect a small ravine with a dead end beyond; there is at least a little enclosed space. It’s the best I can find for now.”

They quickly descended further into the valley, following a roaring stream. It got darker fast even though sunset was nowhere near; rain started falling; they pulled their hoods over their heads and wrestled on through rough shrubbery, once startling a fox. A sudden drop in the valley floor, where the stream became a waterfall, meant a treacherous climb down the now wet rocks; Ysaude thought that if they wouldn’t have Gimli’s knowledge, they probably would have turned back. But they all made it down with only a few scrapes and bruises. When they finally arrived at the entrance of the ravine Gimli had told about however, their footsteps fell still. 

All three stared up in the now pouring rain, frozen in pure awe. A massive boulder was balanced precariously on top of the ravine, looking like it could come crashing down towards them at any moment. But beneath the boulder the rock was dry. 

“Now that _is_ impressive,” Gimli said, loudly speaking to make himself heard over the thunder. “Come on, inside.”   
  
***

“Estel! Don’t stand so close to the entrance. I don’t think it’s safe.”

Estel took a last long look outside. He couldn’t help it; the sudden violence of the storm was like nothing he had ever seen before. With some effort he tore himself away from the sight and moved to sit down with the others.

“I wanted adventure. I guess I got what I asked for,” he said, shrugging. 

“Quite so,” Ysaude agreed. “This adventure, however, isn’t too bad after all. Even Bilbo would agree with that.”

The three of them laughed - the dislike of the hobbit for the discomforts on adventures was well known. They were sitting around a fire they had managed to make with some reasonably dry driftwood; it smoked a little but the flames flickered warm and cheerful. They could dry their clothes and sip hot tea and toast bread while outside rain was pouring and lightning was flashing and the thunder was roaring ever louder; yes, this could definitely be worse.

“I just hope Legolas and Arwen aren’t too worried,” Gimli said. 

“There’s nothing we can do about that now.” Ysaude replied.

“How is it possible the weather turns so quickly?,” Estel wondered. “It may be a result of elven magic, but it never storms in Rivendell. It only quitely rains every now and then.” 

“Bilbo says the big storms are caused by the heat of the east and south that gets pressed up against the Misty Mountains and collides with the cold.” Ysaude said. “But then, that might be just book nonsense. It’s probably the thunder giants said to be living high in the mountains. Bilbo says he’s seen them once.”

All of them looked out of reflex up to the gigantic boulder resting above their heads. Could it be… Estel felt his imagination run wild, picturing huge dark shapes appearing in the entrance.

“Thunder giants?” Gimli said. “I’m not sure I want to know.”

Estel quite agreed. “Let’s talk about something else,” he said. 

They spend the time telling each other stories from their homes instead. Estel told funny anecdotes about growing up as a Men among Elves, who kept exclaiming how fast he was growing up. Gimli told them about wild celebrations in the deep halls of the Blue Mountains and Erebor, where no sunlight ever came but where the light shone in crystal lamps and mirrors and metal and gems, and Ysaude made them laugh with stories about trying to catch escaped mountain goats. Gradually, the thunderstorm lessened, but the rain showed no sign of stopping anytime soon. They curled up in their cloaks to try to get some sleep.

When Estel woke up, the first thing he noticed was the silence - no wind, no thunder, no rain. The second thing he noticed that his whole body was aching. It turned out that Bilbo was quite right - sleeping on cold, hard rock wasn’t that great after all. He stiffly scrambled up and headed outside to pee. To his astonishment, thousands of stars twinkled above him in a deep purple sky, and an almost full moon was rising above the mountain ridges. When he went back to the others, Gimli was also awake and looking up at the night sky.   
  
“We could go back now. The moon will light our way well enough.” Estel whispered to him. 

“Aye, we could.” Gimli replied, just as softly. “But I don’t have the heart to wake Ysaude up when she’s sleeping so soundly. Let’s just wait for the morning.” 

Both turned to look at Ysaude, wrapped up tightly in her cloak beside the glowing embers of the fire, her hair a mess of brown curls, sleeping calmly like there wasn’t a single care in the world. What was this need to lay down and fall into dreams, utterly vulnerable, totally unaware of what dangers might threaten them? Estel felt deeply touched. When he looked back at Gimli, he knew without words that the dwarf felt the same way. Together, they sat and watched until the sky brightened and the stars slowly faded away. 

They crossed the pass again early in the morning. Legolas came running up the mountainside to meet them and Arwen had a hot meal ready. To Estel, it strangely felt like coming home. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My dear readers, are you enjoying this sequel so far? I would love to hear your thoughts and any ideas you might have! You can also find me on tumblr as thefisherqueen, if you'd rather want to say hi to me there.  
> The next 6 chapters of this story are by now almost complete, so the next updates should be coming sooner.


	4. Lothlorién

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They reach Lothlorién.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's another chapter, I hope you enjoy! Thanks to everyone who left kudoos. Also please feel free to leave a comment if you have thoughts or ideas or whatever to share, you can also find me on tumblr as thefisherqueen!

Lothlorién had changed with the fading dominion of Nenya, Galadriel’s ring. Its sense of some great secretive, secluded power had gone. It still left its traces where magic had sunk in too deep to disappear, Arwen could feel it, but it was only in the edges now. A bubble had broken; the people seemed livelier now, not so occupied with a timeless imitation of days past. Elves made new plans. A few babies had even been born, bringing with them chaos and noise. She rather liked it.

She mentioned it to her grandmother while they were having breakfast together, high up in the ancient halls. 

Galadriel said nothing for a long time as she looked out over Lothlorién. Finally she looked at Arwen and nodded, “You’re right, my dear granddaughter. Magic can no longer preserve Lothlorién. We have been a safe haven in the time of Sauron’s power, but now change will come inside its borders. It has already started. And maybe that is for the best - there is always a price to pay for magic that powerful.”

Her grandmother turned back towards the windows.

“I love Lothlorién and it would grieve me deeply if all we have built together in this realm fell into decay. Arwen, will you one day rule Lothlorién in my stead?” 

Arwen was rather taken aback. She had not expected this at all. “Me, rule Lothlorién? But grandmother, why?”

“I can’t stay in Middle Earth.” Galadriel’s voice was harsh, and Arwen bowed her head in grief. 

“I have already lost my mother to the West. Must I now lose both my father and my grandmother as well?”

“Do think of the mortals you travel with. They have but a fraction of the years to spend beside their loved ones.” 

“I know that, yet the loss does not seem to become any easier because of those many shared years. When must you go?“

“Not for a good while yet. You will have time to travel with your companions. But when the scars of power grow too heavy and it is time for me to leave, rule Lothlorién for me, Arwen. You are brave and calm and sensitive. You have the skills to rule and unlike too many of us you are not afraid of change. I will leave these shores with peace in my heart if I know you will look after my dear realm. Promise me, will you lead my people forward into a new age?”

“Elladan and Elrohir will watch over Rivendell. Doesn't Celeborn want to?”

“He expressed a desire to settle further east with those elves who wish to follow him. He isn’t weary of Middle-Earth yet, but does long for a change of scenery.”

Arwen thought long and hard about it while she drank her tea. Ginger and honeysuckle. She noticed the beautifully carved wooden box with the herbs came from Lakedell, and that strangely made her feel a little better. 

Bilbo Baggins had left his country, had lost his lover in a war, and then built a whole new home. Ysaude had lost her family at just nine years old. Estel hadn’t even known his father. She could manage to say her father and grandmother farewell and rule a beautiful realm she loved. She would grief, yes, but she would also figure out how to go on. She wouldn’t be alone after all.

Arwen promised her grandmother she would rule Lothlorién if the people would accept her as their ruler, even though her heart was still heavy. 

***  
  
“You seemed impressed by the Lady Galadriel,” Ysaude said to Gimli. The two of them had climbed one of the hills of Caras Galadhon in the evening to look out over the elvish capital.

“I was. She seemed to me quite frightening, like she knows all about you, but also kind enough to not hold it against you. And I know it is a strange thing for me to say as a dwarf, but to me she is beautiful - if Arwen is the starry night, then Galadriel is the twilight, serene and shimmering.” Gimli replied. “And Legolas is the shine of the deep-coloured gems, dearest to me,” he continued in a dreamy tone, and then all his breath left him as he realized he had spoken aloud.

Ysaude giggled and moved to put an arm around his shoulders, reassuring him. “Oh, my dear Gimli, who speaks so beautifully,” she said. “Why don’t you tell him about your feelings? I think Prince Legolas returns them, even if he has not admitted his feelings to himself yet. Elves tend to be a bit slow like that.”

“What do you mean?” Gimli said, sounding somewhere between hopeful and uncertain.

“Tauriel told me that Prince Kíli almost died on her before she realized she was in love with him. It comes with being immortal, I think - elves seem to change their mind slower, need some more time to process things. They’re far from stupid of course but do seem to struggle sometimes keeping up with us mortals, our quick wits and tempers and fast actions.”

“Hmm. Well, that would certainly answer some questions I’ve had about elves. But we dwarves are not known to act upon mere whims, either.” Gimli said slowly. “Love and grunges both tend to stay in our bones for a long time, so we do not take either of them up lightly. Legolas and I have only known each other for a few years, and during most of that time our only contact was through letters. I’m not in a hurry to push things further when I’m not sure about Legolas’ feelings - or exactly what mine are, for that part. Let us travel and get to know each other better, and I will see if I might make a first move.”

Suddenly, Gimli laughed his great booming laugh. “But I’m glad I won’t have to mind my words around you now. Will you let me know if I’m pining a little too obviously?” 

Ysaude grinned back at him, “It will be my pleasure.”

They watched the setting sun set the sky ablaze with gold in companionable silence. 

***

It was wonderful to be among trees again. Legolas spent the days in Lothlorién wandering the wonderful woodland, sometimes in company, sometimes alone. The trees were different from those that grew back in the Greenwood. They seemed to grow taller and straighter and wider - quite a majestic sight. The forest was drier, too, more golden than green, not so much covered in moss and lichen. More light fell on the ground, falling upon the carpet of flowers - white and yellow, with names Legolas did not always know, and in between them flowed silent, silvery streams. He was happy he made the choice to see wonders like this place for himself.   
  
***

“Did you have a good time last night?” Arwen quietly asked her when they rode off early in the morning, rows and rows of elves watching them leave Lothlorién. 

Ysaude felt herself blush, even as she turned in the saddle to enthusiastically wave at a young elf standing in the front row. “Yes. She was so sweet and pretty.”

Arwen smiled. “I’m glad. I feel obliged to ask, though - has anybody taught you about pregnancy, and bodily pleasures, and the like?” 

“Oh, well, uhm, Bilbo already did. He even had a book with diagrams. It was quite… thorough.” 

“Did he now? Good. Don’t hesitate to ask me if a question comes up, though, or if you need someone to talk to.”

“Thank you, Arwen,” Ysaude replied, sincerely despite her glowing cheeks. “I will.” 


	5. South of Lothlórien

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arwen decides it is time of have a bit of a Talk with her travel compagnons. I tried to not make this too awkward. I'm not sure I succeeded.

“Actually, I do have a question, Arwen,” Ysaude said a few days later. “Or maybe it’s more of an observation. I noticed that Erín and I… well, our bodies were different in some ways. Dwarves and hobbits also differ from men - none of the dwarves seem to have breasts, yet all hobbits I’ve met so far do have them. It’s fascinating. Can you maybe tell me more?”

“I guess what you’re asking is for me to explain the sexual anatomy of the different human races of Middle Earth to you.”

“I suppose so.”

Arwen looked around her and noticed that Estel had moved his horse closer to listen. Gimli and Legolas had stopped their conversation as well, both looking interested. Suddenly, Arwen realized how young all of them still were - definitely not children anymore, but young relative to their people’s lifespan nonetheless. She spent an amused moment wondering how she ended up traveling through Middle Earth with a band of four youngsters, who now all looked to her for knowledge and guidance - experimenting Ysaude, Estel who was likely eager to do the same, the growing attraction she had noticed develop between Gimli and Legolas. Perhaps it was good to have a bit of a talk with all of them. And why not now?

“It seems this is a conversation you are all eager to have,” Arwen said. “Let’s sit in the grass and take our time.” She halted her horse and jumped off, the others following her example. 

“You must know,” she continued as all were sitting or - in Legolas’ case - lying in the grass, looking up at the sky, “that I’m not at all an expert on this topic. Interaction between elves and different races has for various reasons sadly been rare the last thousands of years, so you won’t find any books in Rivendell’s extensive libraries that discuss different sexual anatomies. I am however a healer and my patients have been of different races, so my knowledge is likely better than most.” 

Arwen contemplated for a moment how much to tell them - more specifically, how much she should go into detail. They deserved the best knowledge she could give them, certainly, but on the other hand - this could be a sensitive topic and she didn’t want to embarrass anyone by revealing anything too personal and intimate. 

Better to keep this talk rather general, then, and see what questions they came up with. 

“I’ve helped deliver quite a few births in my time as a healer, and human babies of all races don’t differ a lot at birth except in size. As you will all know some babies have a penis and scrotum, and some a vulva and womb, and a few don’t quite have one or the other. But I’ve thought before that maybe the blood flowing in our veins contains something different depending on our race - something that as we grow older makes dwarves develop deeper voices and broader shoulders and facial hair, and that makes hobbits develop softer body shapes and round faces and breasts, something in our blood that elves maybe have less off, because we don’t show much of all those developments. And then in men I noticed there is a greater variation from person to person.”

While she was speaking, Arwen couldn’t help but notice that everyone very pointedly looked at anything but each other, and Gimli was fridging with pieces of grass. Time for her to stop talking then, probably. Certainly not the right moment to bring up differences in genital size. 

“I’ve never really thought about it, but I guess that makes sense,” Ysaude broke the silence. 

“Why do hobbits get those furry feet, then?” Legolas asked. “They don’t grow beards.”

“It must be the dirt they spend so much time in barefooted,” Arwen said, smiling. 

“Do all races menstruate?” Gimli asked, looking up from his grass braiding. 

“Yes. Those who have wombs generally do,” Arwen replied. “Our cycles aren’t the same, however. Elves for example only have one cycle a year, in autumn, and not even every year at that.”

“Lucky you,” Ysaude muttered.

“Wait. You’re telling me - if you actually _want_ to get pregnant -” Estel said.

“It requires great luck and patience, and careful planning when to do certain activities,” Arwen finished the sentence, winking at him. Estel flushed an adorable shade of red. 

She shared a meaningful glance with Legolas, who was looking almost as flushed as Estel. The prince was certainly also thinking about the many elven feasts held in the autumn season exactly for that reason - celebrations of fertility, of harvest and planting. They weren’t orgies by any means, but sharing of beds after a feast ended was definitely encouraged, and sharing it with more than one partner was considered good luck. Would Estel know about that side of the autumn feasts? Probably not - they would consider him still a child in Rivendell. On the other hand, one should never underestimate how much a curious youngster can find out. 

“Dwarves who menstruate typically do so every few months,” Gimli volunteered.

“This is all so interesting. I wonder how it works with orcs.” Ysaude wondered aloud. 

Arwen felt suddenly nauseous with a deep repulsion, but she firmly pushed the feeling down. It wasn’t Ysaude’s fault that among elves the topic of orcs and sex was commonly treated with utter disgust, a matter of the vilest of jokes and the rudest of insults - dwarves and sex, too, but orcs much more so. It was a valid question anyway. Arwen wished she could give a better answer than that she didn’t know. She decided to wrap the conversation up. 

“This is about as much as I can tell you. Perhaps the libraries of cities we’ll visit will have more information. Or you can take it upon yourself to personally find out more - that is also an option,” Arwen added, a twinkle in her eyes. 

“Maybe I’ve already been doing that,” Ysaude said, looking pleased with herself, breaking out into a grin as Estel, Legolas and Gimli all groaned in unison. 

Arwen sternly cleared her throat. “One final advice to you, my friends,” she said. “You are all young and curious and finally far from the overbearing eyes of your family. You’re eager to explore your sexuality - I can understand that, I was no different as a young adult. But it’s good to remember to not rush into things. Sex can be pleasurable and a joy, but it can also be scarily intimate and has certain risks, both physically and emotionally. Some people are indifferent towards it and some, like Mir and Bilbo, are not interested in pursuing it at all. So only do things if you’re certain you want to do them, and stop at once if you’re for whatever reason uncomfortable. Any partner should respect that, and in turn you should also make sure your partner feels free to say no at any moment.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter gave me headaches! I finally figured out a system I was happy with, inspired by the books 'Sexing the body' by Anne Fausto-Sterling and "Between XX and XI" by Gerald N. Callahan. So it's my interpretation that dwarves have higher levels of testeron leading to more masculine traits, hobbits have higher levels of estrogen leading to more feminine traits, while elves have quite low levels of both and therefore appear neither feminine or masculine (and, I now realize, may look a little child-like. Shit). And then traits of men are more all over the place, which I think is quite close to real life because when you think about it we differ a lot in terms of how much breast tissue, body hair etc we have.  
> Also, Arwen is saying a lot of what I wish someone had said to me. How do you even call that? Self-insert wish-fulfillment dialogue? :P  
> As always, I hoped you enjoyed this chapter and kudos and comments are really appreciated. The next two chapters are ready, so they will follow soon.


	6. Unexpected conversations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The forests south of Lothlórien are dense.

The villages in the vast forests south of Lothlórien got ever smaller and farther apart, so they now often spent the night outside. This village had a nice, small inn however. It was still early in the afternoon but none felt like skipping the luxury of a warm bath and soft bed for the night. 

“I’m afraid I only have four free rooms available,” the innkeeper said. 

Ysaude exchanged a meaningful glance with Estel and shrugged. “Me and Estel here are fine with sharing,” she said.

The innkeeper looked from Ysaude to Estel and then frowned at her, “I’m not sure if that’s appropriate, young lady.”

“I’d tell you I have no intention whatsoever to bang him, but I’m not sure that’s appropriate, either.”

Estel turned a fiery shade of red and Arwen behind them said, “It’s alright, Alfred. There’s no need to worry about Ysaude’s honor.” It was only because Ysaude had been traveling with her for months on the Ring quest that she was able to discern the suppressed laughter in Arwen’s smooth voice. 

“Fine, then. Here’s your keys.”

While they went upstairs, Ysaude thought she could hear someone in the dining room say, “But why wouldn’t she?” 

In the dim light of the stairwell, Ysaude rolled her eyes.   
  


***  
  


“Ysaude? You’re still awake?” 

“Of course I am, silly,” Ysaude replied kindly. “I’m not tired enough to fall asleep as soon as my head touches the pillow. Which is a little hard to my liking, by the way.”

“You’re just spoiled.”

“Says the boy who grew up in fancy-as-Valinar Rivendell.” 

“I’m not a boy anymore, I’m a big strong man now.” 

Estel yelped as the pillow he didn’t see coming towards him in the dark hits him square in the face. They both dissolve into laughter, desperately trying to stifle it lest they wake the whole inn. Finally Estel managed to light a candle. He saw Ysaude was sitting upright in bed, wiping tears from her face. 

“Well, ‘big strong man’, what’s on your mind?”

“You know perfectly well I was only joking.”

“Yes, but you still deserved that pillow.” 

“Hmm. Maybe. Anyway, I wondered how… Well, I don’t quite know...” he trailed off, suddenly uncertain. 

Ysaude stood up and crawled beside him on the bed, wrapping her blanket around her. “Tell me, Estel.” she simply said. “I’m listening.”  
  


***

  
The company traveled on south, through forests that became ever denser. Legolas should be feeling right at home but somehow wasn't. The trees here were very old, he could feel that, and sometimes he thought he could see one move. It was altogether very strange and a little unsettling, like the Ents of the children's tales had found a final home. One day, the forest grew so lush and the undergrowth so wild that they were forced to dismount and lead their horses on by the reins.

The orc encampment came as a complete surprise.

The company stumbled into a small clearing where a small group of orcs was gathered, hauling rocks to build a fireplace. The two groups stared at each other for one long frozen moment, utterly stunned and indecisive. Then Ysaude shook herself and stepped forward into the clearing, her movements slow and deliberate as she removed the bow from her back and laid it before her on the ground, followed by her carving knife. One of the orcs before her made a low sound. They removed an axe from their belt - Ysaude stiffened - but then they put down on the grass to their side. To her astonishment, other orcs slowly followed the example. Ysaude sent an urgent glance over her shoulder. She caught the slightly panicked look from Legolas, but soon enough Ysaude heard her friends reluctantly disarm themselves as well. 

Now her heart wasn’t quite in her throat anymore, she could have a better look at the orcs. They were shorter than she was, limbs a little longer and their skin paler. They looked skinny, with worn clothing, but quite healthy. She decided to try some Westron, “We mean you no harm.”

To her own amazement, the orc who had first disarmed replied, albeit in a strong, guttural accent Ysaude had a little difficulty to understand. 

“If you won’t attack us, then we won’t attack you either.” they said cautiously. 

Ysaude looked around, trying to think of anything to say into the wary silence. Her glance caught Gimli, who was carrying a deer over his shoulders like it weighed nothing.

“We will share the deer with you if you let us set up camp beside you.” she offered.   
  


***  
  


It was very strange indeed to be sitting beside a group of _orcs_ , of all creatures. Legolas remembered the waves and waves of them coming at him, weapons raised, ready to kill. He had killed many of them himself in the battle of the Five Armies, cut them down so they sank bleeding to the ground. They had drawn their last breath laying at his feet. But that was six years ago now, and somehow in that very short time everything had changed, it seemed. Because now Legolas and his friends were sitting beside a group of orcs, and they talked, and shared roasted meat and vegetables, and exchanged names and knowledge and stories. It was bewildering. Legolas barely could think of anything to say himself, and Arwen seemed similarly torn behind her usual calm face - some kind of hidden away pain in her eyes. But Ysaude and Estel were already talking with the orcs like they had known each other for a long time, and Gimli asked question after question. So it was alright really if Legolas just sat silently and listened. 

For the first time, Legolas looked at orcs and it wasn’t from the other side of his weapons. Orcs are ugly and violent and vile - it had been told it his whole life, yet was it true? These orcs’ faces were not covered in dirt and blood now, not twisted in cold hatred. These orcs looked in fact as clean as could be expected in the midst of a dense forest. Their clothes had a strange cut but seemed to be well-made and even decorated with swirling patterns. Their hair and skin tone and features looked different, sure, but so did hobbits and dwarves and men look different. The orcs’ hair was straight and colorless, their skin quite pale, even slightly translucent, and their eyes were quite odd on close sight, big round orbs, light shades of grey or blue he thought. Their noses and chins and ears were small and quite angular. Now Legolas was used to seeing the less delicate faces of men, or the broad bearded faces of dwarves, or the round hobbit faces, and all their different skin tones - from Gimli’s pale brown to Arwen’s deep obsidian - the orcs looked just that - human. 

And what even if they were indeed ugly, Legolas thought then. They would still be _people_. He had a suspicion that elves were generally not considered beautiful among dwarves; too-large eyes in too-narrow, too-fragile faces, he supposed. Ysaude had told him that opinion was different among men, but even men often thought elves were scary-looking, like they didn’t come out of this world. Which was technically true, of course. He briefly wondered what Gimli thought of his looks.

Besides, what orcs were saying was all quite fascinating, really. There were nine orcs and they called themselves the Kíbum, the Alive, from the Kribat clan. They spoke, rather quietly, about a sudden awakening out of an all-consuming dream full of anger and hatred, and then a long, hard flight to remote forests and mountainsides, hunted down by elves and men and dwarves. A struggle to survive followed, but the orcs also spoke of the joy of singing forgotten songs again, of gathering food and going out on hunts, of learning themselves new skills. Some babies had even been born.

As if on cue, a baby began to cry. An orc with the name of Gerba rushed to sush it, and then took the baby back with them. Legolas looked on with amazement at the tiny creature in Gerba’s arms - a child, an orc lovingly holding a child, and felt like his life might never be the same.

When dawn came with a steadily increasing grey light, all were still awake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed this! This chapter was inspired by the There Was Only One Room/Bed trope, which I thought would be fun to reverse - people think the characters get it on but it's really good friends having a fun sleepover.  
> Also slightly inspired by Thorinsmut's amazing Free Orcs AU series. Go check it out if you haven't read it!


	7. The attack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The sound of a snapping branch was their only warning.  
> Violence and a threat of sexual assault in this chapter; read with care.

They bid the orcs a farewell early in the morning and each group went their own separate ways. The going became easier during the next days as they neared the edge of Fangorn; the undergrowth grew less dense and the trees thinned out. Despite that the only warning they had was the sound of a snapping branch. Then figures suddenly dropped out of the trees upon them, pulling them off their horses. It all happened so quickly and there were so many of them no one had time to reach for a weapon. Their horses whinnied in fright; someone screamed; all desperately tried to wrestle themselves free of their attackers. 

Ysaude caught a glimpse of Gimli fighting three men at the same time; then she was slammed roughly against a tree. Her head snapped back and hit the tree trunk hard; it went black before her eyes and she had to grab it to keep on her feet. When her vision blurrily returned, her bow and knife had been taken from her and she looked right in her attackers’ face. She swallowed down her nausea. “What do you want?” she gritted out. “We are only simple travelers. We hardly have any riches for you to take.”

Her attacker smirked at her. “Nice try. But you can’t be that poor with horses this good and boots and clothes this fine.” Then he pressed in closer. “Maybe I’ll cut those fine clothes all off you.”

Her stomach, already a knot of nerves, tied itself even further, and she found she couldn’t move at all. An endless time that really couldn’t have been more than a few seconds went by as her attacker reached for his knife and the cold cruel metal touched her throat. Then noise sounded from the side and her attacker was distracted for a moment; the clear opportunity broke through her state of frozen terror. Ysaude balled her fist, instinctively tucking her tumb outside as Tauriel had taught her, pulled one arm free and punched up in one fluid motion. She hit him square under the jaw with a satisfying crack; he staggered backwards, sinking down to the ground. 

Ysaude grabbed her knife from the ground and ran over to Legolas, who was closest to her. She knocked the man who held him in a choke hold out with her knife’s hild. Legolas was now free to fight off the other; Ysaude ran towards Gimli, arriving just in time to interrupt a nasty-looking punch. Suddenly many orcs were running towards them, coming to their help; all worked as a team to wrestle the men to the ground. A few tried to flee; one jumped onto a horse and was thrown off when Arwen yelled something at it; but finally all eleven men were kneeling in a row. Some were barely conscious. They were bound by their hands and feet, bruised and dirty, held on bowpoint by Legolas. Estel strode towards them. 

“What on this earth,” he said, his voice low and controlled, “made you think you have the right to attack travellers on the road, utterly unprovoked? Explain yourself!”

The attackers cowered for his straight back and the steel-hard gaze beneath his bleeding forehead. His youthful curiosity and lightheartedness had fallen off him; just the seriousness of his mother and the authority of Lord Elrond and a quiet temper that was all his own remained. Ysaude was impressed. Estel had been enraged by the senseless violence from the people of his own race, even more so when she told him what her attacker had said to her; clearly that had not yet lessened one bit.

“Speak now! I command you!” Words that came down like the burning sting of a whip. 

They had their effect.

One of the attackers, a fellow with a dirty blonde beard, started to tremble. “Mercy, my lord,” he said. 

“That is not an answer.”

“My lord, we didn’t mean anything with it! We just saw you earlier and thought you an odd company, men and elves and a _dwarf_ all travelling together, like that’s _normal._ So we decided - we thought it might be fun -” 

“You thought it might be fun.” Estel deadpanned. When none of the men reacted, he continued, “I am not your lord; but maybe we will let you beg for mercy before yours.”

Arwen stepped forwards, head high; she looked livid, which was downright scary on her delicate elven features. “And so it will be done. We will bring you before Lord Haldur, who is the ruler of this land, so he can judge you as he seems appropriate. Consider that a mercy,” she said, one hand resting suggestively on the sword at her side. 

Then she demonstratively turned her back towards them, and bowed deeply to the group Kirbat orcs, who had gathered close together, a bit nervous now. “Our deepest gratitude for your help. I don’t know that we’d all still be alive and hale without it.”

The orcs clumsily bowed back, and Gerba, who they now knew was their leader, said, “We are glad we were near enough to hear your call for aid. The trees showed us the way.”

“Is there anything we can offer you as a token of our gratitude?” Arwen asked, after Gimli, Ysaude and Estel had moved forwards to the orcs to embrace them. 

Gerba conversed quietly with the rest of her clan; then she turned back towards Arwen. 

“We ask nothing in return for our aid, as according to our customs that would be dishonorable,” she said, “but we would appreciate it greatly if you would tell the people that we the Kíbum long for peace at last. The long time of possession cost us dearly and dwindled our numbers greatly. We wish to build something permanent again, to settle, to master the old crafts - to war we hope to never go no more.” 

“We will gladly do so. May our roads one day cross again, even if the circumstances today weren’t good.” Arwen earnestly said. 

“May your journey be good and devoid of further dangers,” Gerba replied just as earnest. “We will take our leave now.” 

And off they went, into the forest, the clan of Kribat orcs.

“Wait,” Gimli said to Estel, who stood beside him. “What did they mean that the trees showed them the way?”

Estel shrugged. “Who knows? It’s probably just an orcish turn of phrase.” 

***

It took the rest of the day to herd the bound group of men to the wooden castle of Lord Haldur and his large household. Their cockiness had all but disappeared - being overwhelmed and dragged along like this was surely never their plan. With a great amount of surprise the group was received at the castle; after a hasty explanation their captives were sent off to the dungeons. The friends themselves were offered a good meal and a small guest hall to spend the night in; gratefully, they accepted. For a long time in the evening they just sat, huddled close together, processing what just had happened to them, occasionally crying, taking comfort from each other. Arwen cleaned and bandaged a dozen cuts and scrapes. One by one they dozed off and went to bed, even if their sleep was restless. 

In the morning, after having made all the testimonials and taking care to tell it was orcs who had come to their help, they were glad to leave the place behind. It was too much surrounded by the trees that now seemed suffocating, full of unknown movements and sounds that could all mean danger. Further south they led their horses, urging them on as fast as they dared, and as the forest turned into rolling farmland once again they relaxed a little. Their experience soon faded into the background among the friendly fields and streams and low turf houses, except sometimes in the night, when shapes seemed to drop out of the sky and their blankets seemed to fight and constrict them. But that was only to be expected. No one had thought they would cross Middle Earth completely unscarred - but they would be all right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I never intended to take this story here, but these things really have a way of writing themselves sometimes. The next chapters will be happier, I promise!


	8. Into Rohan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Estel is still rather quiet as they ride into Rohan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you'll enjoy this next chapter! I know it's been a while again, but I will finish this story at some point, I promise. A few of the next chapters are already written and I've mostly plotted out the last few. It should be around another five chapters. As always, I really appreciate kudos and/or comments.

Everyone could guess why Estel was still rather quiet as the small group rode further into Rohan. They didn’t comment on it, instead leaving him to his thoughts, or occasionally distracting him with hunts and games. He was thankful for their understanding. He didn’t particularly want to talk right now - he just wanted some time to think things through.

Estel was a man, but he was raised in an elven realm. His mother and the few other visiting rangers were the only other men he had known in his childhood years - only in the last six years or so that had changed. Hobbits. Dwarves. More men, of the east and the south. He had already thought then that the elvish whispers about other races he grew up hearing - gold-obsessed dwarves, simple hobbits, power-drunk men - might not be the most objective, bent and simplified and torn out of proportion by thousands of years of separated living. But to see them in this case confirmed - well, it was devastating. 

Estel couldn’t stop wondering why those men had done it. Deliberate violence. Going out of your way to scare and hurt other people - for what? To gain some money? To take joy out of their pain?

Maybe it was better he couldn’t understand it, he finally decided, for if he could he might already be too much like them. Maybe there was something to say for not holding opinions at all about people only on the basis of their differences. What would his mother think about all this? Mahal, but it made his heart sore and gave him a headache. 

His gloomy thoughts gradually disappeared like the green that got turned into gold by the bright sunshine on the plains of Rohan. How could he be sad when there were fragrant herbs to ride through, and lambs that played freely, and pretty youngsters to dance with beside the fire in the evenings? How could he mope about when the people working in the fields were so hospitable, hard working but happy, their faces pleasantly weathered? How could he wish he was simply, safely home instead when they met tall riders on huge horses and practising shield maidens and were led into a stunning golden hall before a grave king all seemed to respect as strict but fair?

Houses had been burned in the years before Sauron’s fall, people had been killed in orcish attacks, in raids of men from the north, but the men of Rohan didn’t keep looking back. They buried their dead, rebuilt their homes, rubbed their scars, nursed their children, ploughed and replanted their fields. Estel helped with a thousand little tasks, learnt about sheep shearing and cheese making and construction and spinning - he had never enjoyed sitting still, anyway - and to his own surprise felt real pride for being a man. Yes, there might be corruption in some hearts, and some men turned towards evil - but there was endless strength and diligence and kindness here too. And it was unfair to judge a whole people for the actions of a few. 

***

Legolas and Arwen drew quietly aside in the clear evenings. Gazing up at the stars in the clear skies above Rohan, they talked. Elves that had befallen a great grief tended to fall into despair and go to the West. Arwens’s mother had done so, leaving her father behind alone to look after their children. Legolas was raised by his father alone but he had known others that had gone into the West, his childhood nurse and a dear friend among them. Yet they both had met men who, rather like Ysaude, had lost absolutely everything but somehow still cling on onto life - who kept going, sometimes even with injuries that had never healed. Why could the men of Rohan do what elves often could not? Was there something fundamentally different about men, or were there secrets about healing from grief and hurt they had unlocked and the elves had not? Legolas and Arwen didn’t come to any answers, but the shared evenings comforted them nonetheless. 

***

His gaze had been drawn back to her the whole evening. Estel stopped himself from staring at her because that was just rude, but he couldn’t seem to get her out of his thoughts. He was intrigued.

The way her curly black hair spilled from underneath her woolen hat. Her plump figure in her green dress. The way she threw her head back as she laughed. Her dimpling cheeks, and her brown sparkling eyes… Estel thought she might be the most attractive person he’d ever seen. But, by the Valar, he was behaving like one of the love-stuck characters the bard had just sung about.

He glanced around the table they were sitting at; it made a peaceful scene. The letter he was writing lay before him, abandoned for the moment; it spoke of things he’d rather not think about now. Gimli was carefully chipping away at a little stone figure, giving it all his attention; Legolas calmly looked on, sipping his tea (and how Estel admired the elf’s patience). On the other side of the table, Arwen was showing a kid how to tie different knots and Ysaude was busy solving a colorful puzzle involving many different small pieces of wood - Bifur’s work, he thought. Ysaude looked up and suggestively tilted her head sideways in that cheeky way of hers.

He should have known that she’d notice the reason he was distracted. But Estel was still getting used to having good friends his own age; he never really had them before. 

So, what to do?

The answer was clear. It was in romance tales sometimes and in Ysaude’s sensible advice and he had seen people doing it before, even Ysaude herself, for Aulë’s sake. It was just, he was afraid to do it. What if she thought him threatening? The memory of Ysaude frozen in fear, held against that tree - and he unable to go help her - still haunted him. He never ever wanted to be that man (“As long as you see women as whole people with their own wishes and feelings, you won’t be,” Ysaude had said). There was also the fact that customs of men were still largely a mystery to him. What he accidentally insulted her? Was it even appropriate for him to approach a stranger in an inn? 

Somehow, this was scarier than the time he had to tell Lord Elrond he’d accidentally decapitated a statue. 

Gimli nudged his leg under the table. So his dwarven friend had noticed as well. Great. Estel braced himself, stood and walked over to the bar, taking a deep breath. He could just retreat back to their table if he had any reason to doubt her interest, after all. He smiled at the girl, trying his best to not look too nervous, and said, “My lady, may I offer you a drink?”

Her response was better than he’d dared to hope. She looked him over with clear curiosity and then she smiled back at him so warmly it made him feel hot all over. 

They talked; he learned that her name was Nadia and that she was a sheep herder and that she’d come down to the inn tonight to listen to the bard. She was interested in his travel stories and in elves and dwarves and Estel also asked her a lot of questions; her simple upbringing in this remote, rural village of men could not differ more to his own. Yet how different were their lives really, after all? Back in Rivendell he had also spent a lot of time outdoors and had his own responsibilities and was, at the end of day, just happy to return inside and enjoy the simple comforts of food and music and company. Estel forcefully shut off that trail of thought; the combination of Nadia and comforts led to images in his mind that made him blush and stutter.

Except that it seemed like Nadia maybe had similar trains of thought, because as it grew late she invited him up to her room. Estel felt incredibly awkward for a moment as Nadia went to close the curtains and light the lamps with her candle, and he didn’t know what to do with himself. His uncertainty was resolved when he noticed that the fire in the hearth was dying. He just had stoked the glowing embers up again into a cheerful fire when Nadia sat down beside him on the floor and leant against his side. Cautiously, he wrapped an arm around her. 

She was warm and soft and wonderful, and when he asked if he could kiss her, she said yes. 

They ended up kissing upon the bed. It was clumsy and a bit messy and utterly intoxicating, and Estel could feel himself reacting. He pulled back from her, panting a little, “I was told not to do anything that might make you pregnant.”

“Luckily, that is not what I had in mind.”

“What exactly do you have in mind, then?” 

“Lie down and I’ll show you.”

Estel lay back on the bed with a smile. What followed had indeed no risk of pregnancy and was very, very nice. 

***

Leaving Nadia a few days later was hard, but there was just no way around it. She had her sheep and her community, he had his journey and his wish to find his own calling, and they both had known from the start that this could not last long. He pulled Nadia aside to thank her for her company and the few wonderful days and then a few tears spilled over. How did Rangers do this all the time? Long-time travel had always sounded exciting but now he realized it really wasn’t that easy after all. You had to say goodbye to people all the time - and who knew if you ever would see them back? 

Nadia pulled him against her in one last tight embrace. “Oh, sweetheart.” she said. “These tears won’t last. Remember me when you ride into far off places, and I’ll remember you as I tend to my sheep, and we’ll both be just fine.” 

“I’ll never forget you,” he promised. Estel didn’t quite dare call it love, he didn’t think it was that, but that warm and tender feeling of talking to Nadia, of walking the fields with her, of having her in his arms… well, he’d miss it. 


	9. Out of Rohan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is the beginning of fall as they leave the golden plains of Rohan and head for higher ground. More difficult days lie ahead. But dealing with your own thoughts can sometimes be a challenge, too.

It was a hot fall day. On the rolling plains there was no shelter at all from the burning sun. Ysaude shrugged out of her sweaty tunic and spread it out before her on her horse to dry. She caught Gimli glancing curiously at her, then quickly looking away again. 

“It’s alright Gimli, you can look,” she said. “I wouldn’t walk around in a city dressed just like this, but among friends I don’t mind.”

She was still wearing a bodice above her long skirt. It was a beautiful one; Miranda had made it for her, creamy white with embroidered red roses. It was sleeveless, covering her chest down to her midriff, well-tightened with laces in the front. Gimli admired the design and the embroidery.

“I don’t always wear one, but it gives me support when I’m moving about. I guess dwarves don’t need them.”

“That’s true enough.” Gimli replied. 

“How do the dwarves of Erebor look upon nudity in public then?” she asked. “Is it common to walk around with a bare upper body, for example? Mir sometimes does so when it’s a warm day and she’s working the wood with her axes. I like to watch her.” 

“You do?” he said, suggestively raising one eyebrow. 

She poked him in the side, “I may be a lesbian and like to look at attractive women, but Mir’s family!” 

“Alright, alright, just joking,” Gimli said, laughing. “Anyway, it’s not that common at all. It’s year-round cool beneath our mountain so the custom is to wear warm dresses and cloaks made from wool and furs, and a nice leather belt over them to store things. Clothes also signify your gender and craft and family tree; outsiders however usually don’t notice the differences, they’re subtle. But down in the forges those heavy layers are unbearably hot, especially when you’re doing the crude work of smithing, so some dwarves do work with bare torsos there. And we have public bath halls where we bathe nude, but the lighting in there is dim. So I guess it’s not frowned upon, but you won’t often see dwarves just casually walking around naked, either. What about the men of Anduinfort?” 

Ysaude shrugged. “It’s not that different from these regions. As you’ve seen, it is common for farmers to wear loose-fitting white undergarments in the warmer months. They always keep their chest covered though - it is considered indecent not to do so, especially for women. Winters are cold, so during that time people wear warmer skirts and vests on top. Inhabitants of the inner city sometimes wear more delicate clothes.” She looked down at the tunic in front of her. “I however have developed my own habits - I prefer to wear tight underwear beneath a loose layer. And in Lakedell there are some others who now do the same.” 

“The people of Lakedell must have a lot of different customs, coming from many different races and places. Doesn’t that cause friction?” Gimli asked.

“Well, Bilbo knows everyone and every detail and nobody can be angry at Bilbo when he looks at them with sad eyes, so that’s a great help in soothing out any hard feelings.” Ysaude said, smiling at the fond memories. She missed Bilbo most of all. “And I guess we have adapted a set of simple rules over the years. You’re free to dress how you like, act how you like, do what you want to do, as long as you’re contributing to communal tasks, and as long as you’re not hurting or harassing others. Greater differences in opinion are talked about with all of us in a gathering, but there’s been little need for them yet.” 

“That doesn’t sound too bad at all.”

“It’s more likely to be hilarious. Like when hobbits complain that we eat so little of their cooking, or when Mir and Kalur were too afraid to row across the lake at first, scared to float above the sheer depth below them - they can feel that, of course, which must be weird. I also remember Tauriel once being furious that someone used her knife without her knowing. Apparently it’s very impolite among elves to touch someone else’s weapons.”

Gimli lowered his voice. “Well, I wasn’t planning to touch the “weapon” of an elf without asking first,” he said.

Ysaude grinned brightly at him, replying just as softly, “My, Gimli, why that dirty mind today? Thinking about Legolas’ “weapon”, are you?”

Gimli felt his face catch fire and shut his mouth. For once he couldn’t find any words to say. 

***

The thing was, each day Gimli spent riding in the sunshine beside Legolas, was one more day he grew more certain about his feelings for the elf. And each day was one more day he decided against telling Legolas. 

Arwen apparently also knew now. “You’re a fine dwarf, my friend,” she firmly told Gimli one evening. “Any elf should be honored to have you as their partner. The one you want won’t reject you if you asked him, I’m sure of it.” 

Why didn’t he? Since the attack, Gimli was painfully aware that their time in this world might be cut short at any moment. He really ought to stop dithering and tell Legolas already. But, well, Arwen couldn’t know it but it wasn’t rejection Gimli feared. He would be the first to admit he didn’t yet know everything about elven customs and expressions of emotion, despite all the hours spent talking with Legolas, but he did knew now that the elf deeply cared about him. Legolas always sought out his company, treated him with an easy fondness, trusted him with some of his deepest feelings and fears. It was quite humbling, really. So, even though Legolas probably hadn’t yet thought to call it romance, Gimli wasn’t worried about rejection. He was instead torn by countless other doubts and worries. Where could they go? They wouldn’t be welcome in the Greenwood as a couple - not in Erebor, either. He didn’t want to be a burden and a shame to Legolas, to further complicate Legolas’ bond with his father, to spoil Legolas’ beloved home for him. It didn’t matter that much anyway. Every day beside Legolas was its own gift, more precious than silver, than gems, and if that urge was there to take Legolas with him into a room and take off all their clothes and feel his naked skin against his own and whisper sweet words into his damned pretty pointy ears, well, he could deal with that. Dwarves don’t rush into things, he told himself. So Gimli rode on, and spoke of all things with Legolas but the matter closest to his heart, and dreamed. 

***

_ Dear Mir, _

_ I hope you are in good health - please write me back about things that are happening in Lakedell, how the plants and animals are doing this year, about new furniture you’re working on! How’s the new stable coming along? Send my love to Bilbo and Frodo and Bofur, to Tauriel and Miranda and all the others. I miss every one of you. _

_ I am writing to you from the gap of Rohan. Have you ever been here, Mir? It’s a very impressive place; an elevated plateau that stretches out over quite a distance, where the wind always howls and there are wide views over Rohan in the east and the river marshes in the west and the steep mountains that guard the Gap on both sides. We will cross the Gap and then travel south to cross the White mountains into Gondor. It will be the first mountain range we’ll cross, so I’m quite excited to see how much this range will differ from the Misty Mountains. Let’s hope this clear autumn weather stays stable and the trails won’t be too difficult. We met a kind ranger who can guide us across however, so I’m not too worried. _

_ I’m sure Bilbo will have let you read the letter I sent to him, like I asked. I’m sorry I didn’t write directly to you before. The thing is, Mir, that I feel a little at a loss for words.  _

_ I would have expected to feel more scared, after what happened. I mean, it’s strange, isn’t it? I knew the world wasn’t a safe place from the moment I saw my family murdered before my eyes, yet at the same time there’s also this strangely rational part of me that knows I can do very little about the danger out there, so I might as well be as kind and careless as I can. I stubbornly refuse to be afraid, to be suspicious and distrustful. We already have been received with so much kindness along the way - we just have to deal with the dangers whenever they happen to us. _

_ How do deal with them, Mir? You must also have experienced some violence yourself during all those years on the road. Can you give me some advice? Like I said, I don’t really feel scared - I feel a little empty instead, like the daily joys of life have lost some of their shimmer. Tired, too. My thoughts occasionally keep producing upsetting images. Ones that happened, and ones that might have happened if the Kribat orcs hadn’t saved us. I won’t bother you with details, but, well - they’re not nice. _

_ In my nightmares, it all blends together. The attack on my old family, my new family at Lakedell in danger, the scary moments of our Ring quest and this journey alike - and when I wake up I don’t know for a while what was real and what not. It’s quite exhausting.  _

_ That said, please don’t worry about me. I’m doing well enough. We five all got through this together and we’re pulling each other through, our friendship even closer than before. I’m sure my next letter will be happier.  _

_ Much love, Ysaude _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hoped you enjoyed this chapter! I had a lot of fun researching medieval (under)clothing. It seems that, despite what you often see in movie costumes, trousers or leggings weren't really a thing yet back then. So dresses and skirts for everyone it is in this story. What medieval people wore in terms of actual underwear nobody really knows (maybe they just didn't?), but I can't imagine life without some kind of bra, so I gave Ysaude a bodice. Something like this: https://www.townsends.us/products/french-bodice-fb142-p-287 but shorter.


	10. Over the White Mountains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They cross the mountains. But first, Arwen gets to know their guide better.

“So far our journey has been going as well as could be expected,” Arwen said. She was still a little out of breath and she was thirsty; she reached for the jug of water on the bedside table and poured herself a mug. “We met many interesting people already and learned about their lives; we’ve had some difficulties however with river crossings and finding supplies in remote locations. Also we were attacked once. Luckily we all got out of it without serious injury.”

“I’m glad to hear you were not wounded,” her lover replied. “Attacks on travelers sadly happen every now and then. It is hard for the rulers south of Anduinford to keep their vast rural stretches of land secure from bands that have extracted themselves from remote communities, hoping for an easier life than the one spent working the fields. It’s one of the reasons a lot of us decided to remain here instead of traveling to the north when most of the other Dúnedain did. We aid the people by patrolling the roads and lending a hand where needed.” 

“Interestingly, it was a group of orcs that came to our help.”

“Now that is a story I’d like to hear,” Berko said, clambering up from his lazy sprawl on the blankets to sit against the headboard. His lovely brown skin was covered with a faint sheen of sweat and his damp black curls stuck to his forehead; Arwen had to resist the urge to touch him again. 

“I had noticed that the orcs seemed to have ceased their attacks since the fall of Sauron,” Berko continued. “But never have they come to my aid either. They fled the few times I spotted them.”

“I do not know if they would have done it had we not stumbled upon the group a few days before while they were making camp. We spent the whole night talking.” 

Berko was really fascinated now, she could tell. He looked at her with his dark eyes and the tender desire that had filled them before was replaced now with a sharp curiosity. 

“There’s even more to you than meets the eye, Arwen Undomiél,” Berko said. 

“And what does meet the eye?” Arwen let herself say before she could think better of it.

He answered her grin with a slowly spreading smile and leaned over to her to kiss her. “A stunning elf lady, confidence in her posture, kindness in her smile, curiosity towards the world in her eyes,” he sincerely said. “Getting to know her will be an honor.” 

“Oh my. It seems I have caught quite the catch today.” Arwen said, her voice sounding now strangely breathless in her own ears. “It isn’t everyday one meets a beautiful Ranger with words sweet as honey mead flowing from his tongue, who knows equally well the skill of the bow and the lay of the land, and even better how to please me. The honor is all mine, Berko.”

They continued talking for a long time after that - among other things, that was. 

***

The ice-topped peaks of the White Mountains looked dazzling white in the morning sun; from the moment the travelers rounded the top of a hill and they came into full view it was clear how they got their name.

“I’m grateful you are willing to guide us across, Berko.” said Arwen. “Crossing an unknown mountain range should never be taken lightly.” 

“I intended to travel back into Gondor one of these days anyway, so it’s really no trouble. By the way, Ysaude here told me you crossed the very walls of Mordor itself on your Ring Quest.”

Arwen shrugged. “That was just a few days of rock climbing, steep and unstable but fairly straightforward.” 

Berko shook his head in disbelief. “I have seen the sheer, black walls of Mordor often enough, and cannot believe you got over them. But I admit I’m no climber. Our way through the White Mountains will be steep and stony, leading past glaciers and rock slides and ravines, but at least we will be on trails that are walkable. The horses can do it as well.” 

“Will you lead me to the Caves of the Dead, Berko?” Estel asked him. 

Ysaude, who was riding beside Estel, looked up, surprised. “You intend to end their curse? But I thought Isildur cursed them because they broke their oath to help their allies in times of need? Bilbo has stories about it.”

Estel shrugged. “As often seems to be the case, the stories are incomplete and inaccurate. I read everything I could find about Isildur and the Ring in the library of Rivendell while you were away on the Ring quest to have something to do other than wait - first-hand reports and letters and treaties, and they tell a different story.”

“They do? This sounds important. I think everyone should hear it.” Berko said.

After the whole small company had gathered around them, Estel continued.

“The allegiance between Gondor and the men of the White Mountains was made during the last war with Sauron, while king Elendil was still alive, before his son Isildur cut the Ring from Sauron’s hand. After, not only had the circumstances changed - which according to common law can be reason enough to void or at least re-negotiate an allyship -, Gonder’s style of rule had dramatically changed too. Elendil had been a just if somewhat vain king maintaining a peaceful relationship with his neighbouring realms. Isildur wasn’t even 30, newly wedded with a few young children, when he claimed the Ring for himself and not long after was crowned. Sources say he quickly changed. It seems a combination of his own ambition, the Ring’s influence and the rush of sudden power and hero-worship got to him. He became a violent king, attacking allies while they were still weak from the war with Sauron’s armies, aiming to expand Gondor’s territories and claim riches to his treasury. The men of the White Mountains refused to aid him in his greedy, cruel pursuit and fled before his wrath into the caves below the mountains. Isildur used the power of the Ring to curse them to eternally stay there, never to find rest unless Isuldur himself or one of his heirs would set them free. Isildur later lost the ring in a battle far to the north, on the banks of the Anduin, and was killed. Chaos broke out, Isildur’s children couldn’t be found - their mother had fled with them -, and so the line of Stewards took over the rule of Gondor. Gradually, peace settled again in those lands. But I’m afraid that meanwhile the great injustice that befell the men of the White Mountains had been quite forgotten, turned into a scary story to tell children.”

Everyone was staring at him. 

“Oh my. That is quite something.” Ysaude said, looking baffled. “Although now I’m thinking about it, being cursed to eternally dwell underground as - what, exactly? Ghosts? Is a very harsh punishment indeed anyway, no matter the crime.” Then she winked at Estel. “You see, sitting still to read has its merits. You actually learn a thing or two.” 

Estel grinned at her. “I only managed it because I was so desperate for any knowledge about the Ring.” 

“That peace in Gondor was fragile some years ago,” Berko gently interrupted them. “Orcs had conquered Minas Ithil in the east, uncomfortably close to Minas Tirith. Unrest was spreading among the realm as savage attacks and poisonous rumors stirred the people. Talk had it that the Steward should look to find the Ring so to end Gondor’s troubles - not that Ecthelion ever agreed with those. He’s a sensible man. But some of his advisors did, and I have a suspicion his eldest child was quite taken in with the idea as well. It is true however that the real history of the White Mountains has been forgotten. I have lived my whole life in these regions, been several times near the entrance to the Caves of the Dead, and yet didn’t know what truly happened so long ago.”

Estel nodded. “My mother told me about unrest in Gondor when she returned from the Ring quest,” he said. “It was one of the many reasons I decided to join this journey - I wanted to see for myself how Gondor is doing now, as I feel tied to its fate. Anyway, as Isildur’s heir I’ve now wanted for years to finally set the Dead of the White Mountains free. It might as well mean my own death, but I won’t be able to live with myself if I don’t at least try.”

“I will lead you there,” Berko gravely promised.

*** 

Up they climbed on rough rocky trails, higher and higher above the vast branched river delta, into colder, thinner air. 

Legolas marvelled at the high alpine world around him. Small, icy streams tumbled down between rocks. Jagged peaks rose up in the most interesting shapes. Scattered snow fields lit up beneath the light of sun and stars and moon.

Berko told stories about earlier crossings he had made, sometimes with unlikely travel companions, like a whole company of dwarves.

Ysaude felt her mind come to rest on the treeless, remote hights; bandits hiding in deep forest seemed now far, far away. She felt safe between the boulders and small lakes and rockfaces, familiar yet excitingly new. 

Arwen amused them by demonstrating rock climbing techniques on cliffs and huge boulders, turning back with rare flowers and tasty herbs she found growing in cracks on the way.

Gimli was in his element; walking steadily on the uneven trail, exploring nooks and ravines and caves around camp each afternoon. Once he got so excited over a discovered vein of silver he spent a whole evening describing everything he could make with silver that fine, only stopping once he realized he had described nothing but presents he intended to make for Legolas. 

All of them were in awe as they passed the tongue of the huge glacier as it plunged down like a cracked waterfall of ice into a wild, cloudy river, revealing all possible shades of blue. 

Snow silently started to fall once they left the glacier behind them; their world turned wondrously quiet, white and gray and black. Carefully they sought their way over several passes, the stones slippery and treacherous; it was a good thing Berko was with them, else they likely would have lost the trail. 

Finally they had descended enough for the snow to turn into rain; to where the boulder fields met steep grassy meadows, and then Berko led them away from the trail. 

***

“Why are you mortals always intent on taking me underground, with darkness and stone and death for company?” Arwen said, sighing deeply as she cautiously peered into the narrow cave entrance. A cold wind got a hold of her coat and whipped it around. 

“I don’t ask you to come with me. This is my task and I will do it alone.” Estel stated.

“Forget it.” Gimli firmly said. “We’re going with you, laddie.”

Estel was ready to protest, but looking at the fierce faces of his friends - even Arwen now looked resolute - thought better of it. He realized no one of them ever told another what to do. Maybe that was why they got along so well. 

He smiled at them, feeling less cold suddenly. "I’m worried about your safety, but I do admit I was not looking forward to going in there alone. Someone needs to stay with the horses, though. They seem ready to bolt at any moment.”

Berko moved forward and gathered the horses’ reins in his hands. “I will stay. This is one part of your adventure I’d rather not get involved in.”

Estel nodded. “I wish I could tell you when to expect us back, but I don’t have the slightest idea. If we won’t return - please send word to Rivendell, to Lothlorien and Lakedell, to Erebor and the Greenwood, all our realms. May you long continue to look after the people of Gondor.”

Berko embraced him. “I will. Take care now young man; I wish you strength and good fortune in this difficult task.”

Then Estel unsheathed his sword and stepped inside the cave entrance, feeling the damp cold on his face and hearing the footsteps of his friends fall in step behind him. The silver light of Arwen’s lamp fell on uneven walls and floors. 

“Remember,” Estel softly said, almost to himself. “The Dead are not monsters. They are just men who were cruelly cursed. This is a tragedy, not a horror story.” 

“I do wonder about the story’s ending, though,” Legolas answered him, and Estel greatly admired the elf’s ability to joke - his own throat felt tight and his heart hammered in his chest like it was doing a smithing frenzy (Gimli would be proud of his word choice).

The Dead were still there. They all knew it. 

Already upsetting were the bones and skulls scattered on the floor, covered in thick layers of dust that once must have been fabric. Metal glistened between - helmets, swords, jewelry. 

Around them, there was something other than emptiness in the darkness. In made rustles, faintly. It made movements, hardly. It formed shapes, barely. 

It gathered around them like a cold breeze.

“I do not fear death,” Ysaude’s voice came from somewhere behind him, and it only trembled a little. “I’ve seen it, escaped it, walked between it, caused it. I want to live but am not afraid to die.”

More corridors. More chambers. Gimli was leading them on now with his better trained senses, his great axe in his hands, Ysaude and Estel closely behind his reassuring broad back. Legolas and Arwen closed the group, ready to fend off an attack from behind - but what weapon can defeat death?

On and on they went, nerves on edge, deep into the very heart of the mountain.

After multiple long, long hours they entered a great hall. Estel immediately knew this was the place, felt the power of the curse throbbing in his head. He exchanged a glance with Arwen, who nodded, clutching her head. The hall was absolutely laden with bones - they were piled high on stone tables and bunk beds and around old marble fireplaces; the heavy cold was so strong here it was hard to breathe.

Estel stepped out from between the pillars and his heart almost stopped.

The ghost people were visible, watching them, silent. Estel swallowed. He hadn’t counted on there being elderly people and children, but of course there would be. A people never consists only of warriors. 

An old woman came forward, her torn dress unfamiliar in style, rushing with feathers and tinkling with odd amulets. She was tiny and frail and her face was barely more than a skull. She stopped before Estel, who instinctively had pushed his friends behind him, and reached out, her bony fingers stopping just short from the Lothlorien brooch on his chest.

Estel strangely felt all fear leaving him. She was dead, yes, her skin impossibly grey and dull, her eyes cloudy and sunken, but she was human, so human his heart ached with it. What had her name been? Did she have children, and grandchildren? A craft? He wanted to take her hand, tell her it would be all right now, and knew he shouldn’t. He didn’t know exactly what would happen - but he didn’t think it would be good.

“Who are you? You look like him. Like King Isildur.”

Her voice wasn’t air from her lungs; it was somehow made of the shuffling noises around them, more in his mind than in his ears. A faint hope laid on her face that didn’t reach her eyes, which had long ago lost their shimmer. It was painful to see.

“I am Aragorn, son of Gilraen and Arathorn. I am Isildur’s heir.”

“How long has it been?”

“Three thousand years.”

Murmurs rose up around them; children clasped their elder’s hands, Estel noticed.

“I have no way to give you back the years you have lost; can’t fill all the empty years you spent restlessly dwelling these caves.” he said. “But I can release you.”

“We just want to sleep. But how?” a teenager younger than Estel, older than stone asked.

“This,” Estel replied, stepping toward one of the tables and laying his hand on a clear glass globe. He had been called to it; had felt its power for some time now. The globe flicked to life beneath his hand, showing a ring of flames inside its depth, trapping silhouettes inside it. Several voices softly swore behind him. Estel took a moment to breathe and send a prayer to whatever gods were watching. Then he gathered all his focus and concentrated it on the globe, commanding it. This had to work. He didn’t know what else to do, didn’t dare to think of what would happen if it wouldn’t obey him. Arwen was right at his back, lending him some of her formidable power. He doubled his efforts. Slowly, water rose up in the globe. It quenched the flames, sending up a wall of steam that clouded the inside of the glass until the whole globe dissolved into nothingness.

The people before him sighted as one. 

“I’m terribly sorry for what my forebear did to you,” Estel said to them. “Please go; find your rest now.”

The people fell back in chairs and on benches, tiredly closing their eyes; gradually, they faded away. 

When they finally made it back outside, it was already dark. Estel sank to his knees. 

“You did well. I’m so proud,” Ysaude warmly said, laying her hand on his shoulder. 

But Estel could only cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aragorn/Arwen wouldn't feel right in my story, but I still wanted to show Arwen's weakness for handsome Rangers. ;) In this chapter, I changed canon around Isildur quite a bit so it would fit my story better. Much inspiration for the Dead storyline came from youtube channel Ask a mortician, which I binge watched last weekend. It got me thinking about how much we fear death and are especially horrified by dead bodies, and how the Dead were treated in LotR - as scary and dangerous, only good as a convient secret weapon, which no thought spent on the cruelty of their fate or who they had been when they were alive. And then I developed Feelings about a fictional, dead, deadly army, lol.


End file.
